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Dear Toaster-Using Coworker

I want to take a second to tell you what a fantastic coworker you have been. Seriously, you have been top notch. I mean, in the time we have worked together, we have shared a lot of laughs. Who can forget the incident with Jeff’s birthday cake? I don’t think they’ll ever get that icing off of the ceiling tiles!

I do have one issue I would like to bring up, though. Perhaps you should be a bit more attentive.

The other day, I was sitting at my desk. It was midafternoon and we were, as always, getting stuff done. That’s when I smelled the distinctive aroma of burning toast.

Seeing that it was the middle of the afternoon, I assumed that no one would actually be making toast. The next logical conclusion was that I was having a stroke.

I immediately began Googling signs of a stroke. This is probably not what a person’s first course of action should be when they think they are experiencing a medical condition, but that’s what I chose to do. After reading through symptoms, I came to conclusion that it was not a stroke. Then, glancing towards the break room, I saw you standing next to the toaster, scorched bread in hand.

Now, I understand that the toaster is complicated. It does have a lever and four buttons, so it is essentially like piloting a space shuttle. It does seem to me, though, that you could have noticed that this toast was burning and stopped this.

In conclusion, I look forward to more great times, but I will quickly end our friendship if you continue to burn bread on your weird and confusing afternoon toast break.

I guess it could be worse. You aren’t microwaving cabbage like Margie did the other day. That would be unforgivable.

Love,
Nathan

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I too wonder if I’m having a stroke whenever I smell burnt toast in the office. Since I’m in prime real estate, I worry that people might not wait till my body’s cold before moving in. But what’s even worse is burnt popcorn, the smell of which seems to linger for about a month. Perhaps the purveyors of the burnt offerings are preparing themselves for what awaits them in the afterlife (and the burnt toast will always land butter-side down there!).
At least that’s what I tell myself to keep from throttling them.

At a previous job, we had an incident where the coffee pot was left on, burning the remaining coffee. That was also awful. It just smelled like the building was burning down, so I felt obligated to examine every plug in case it was smoldering.

This is similar to working in a coffee shop. There is no way of knowing if the cups of random coffee sitting around belong to your co-workers or if they actually need to be thrown out and the cups washed. If you take the wrong course of action, you are greeted with hurt and offended looks from your colleagues as they cry dejectedly, ‘No, no! That flat white was mine.’